Seeing and Believing
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Sequel to 'The Looking Glass Cracked'. Sam's recovering but as his physical scars heal, his emotional ones still linger. Dean and Bobby are trying their best to help Sam but the eldest Winchester is becoming anxious to hunt the dybbuk that had possessed their father. Dean is prepared to face the monster that used John for months, but is Sam ready?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Sins of the Father

**Warning: This story contains the physical and verbal abuse of a child. If you feel uncomfortable with that subject, please don't read this.**

Sam hurried to exit the car, one hand balancing the boxes of take-out Chinese while the other fumbled for the handle.

"Hurry up!" John snapped as he waited impatiently at the motel room's door and Sam stumbled, his foot caught in the seatbelt that was dangling out of the car.

The boy turned around to try and slip the nylon belt over his sneaker but as he moved the boxes of take-out slipped from his grasp and fell onto the pavement with a wet _splat._

Sam's breath hitched in his throat, knowing that he was going to be punished for dropping the food. Quickly kneeling down he tried scooping the noodles and chicken back into the boxes.

"What the hell are you doing?" John's voice cut through the quiet parking lot and Sam flinched.

Peering nervously over his shoulder, Sam began to apologize, "I-I'm s-sorry, Dad… I didn't me-mean to-"

John's expression turned from one of irritated annoyance to fury, "Are you stupid, huh? How Goddamn difficult is it for you to carry a couple of boxes four feet to the room?!"

Sam's eyes welled up with tears of fear and he stood up, wiping his sticky hands off on his jeans, "It w-was an ac-accident, honest!"

John ran a hand through his black hair and Sam could see his father was trying to decide what to do with him, "No use wasting good food."

Sam peered up his father, confused.

"Dad?" Sam asked uncertainly. The food was ruined; there was no way to salvage it.

John approached his son until the boy backed up a few paces, "Go ahead Sam, dig in."

Sam's eyes widened as his father gestured to the food lying on the pavement, "No! Please, I'm sorry!"

"I'm not wasting my money just because you're a clumsy idiot," John explained, deceptively calm, "Now, eat."

Sam shook his head and couldn't help the tears streaming down his face.

"It won't hurt you," John continued in that eerily calm tone, "I'm waiting."

Sam didn't want to eat the food. The parking lot was anything but clean; Sam could see bits of gravel and old road salt coating it, shiny patches of engine oil that had leaked from cars and dried circles of chewing gum squashed into it.

Sam knew that his father wouldn't wait long for him to follow the order; he'd probably get five minutes tops before John got bored and dragged him into the motel room. Sam shuddered, if that happened he knew his father was going to beat him. He would probably still beat his son after he'd eaten the food.

Crying, Sam dropped onto his hands and knees in front of the less-than-appetizing pile of food. Sam almost wished someone would walk by but he knew they were the only tenants at the motel and the sidewalks were empty at this time of night.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Sam scooped up some of the noodles. Closing his eyes, the boy shoveled the food into his mouth and chewed quickly; gravel crunched in his teeth and the taste of asphalt on his tongue.

"Pl-please Dad," Sam just barely swallowed the mouthful before his stomach protested and he retched dryly, "D-don't make m-me do this."

"Maybe you'll be more careful next time, won't you, boy?" John asked as he watched the child.

Sam nodded, "I w-will… I pr-promise I will. Ple-please don't make me e-eat anymore!"

John's only response was to take a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket and light it.

Sam wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater and gulped, steeling himself to continue eating.

Tears rolled down the boy's cheeks as he ate as quickly as possible, finishing the noodles and moving sadly onto the sweet and sour chicken balls. Sam brushed as much gunk off the chicken before popping the morsels into his mouth.

More than once Sam was forced to stop in the middle of his 'meal' when his stomach clenched, fearing he was about to be sick. Luckily, everything stayed down although it roiled unhappily in the boy's gut.

Panting, Sam sat back on his haunches and looked pleadingly up at his father.

"You're disgusting," John said and Sam lowered his head in shame. John sniffed and opened the door to the motel room, dropping their luggage onto the floor.

Sam didn't dare say anything to his father, afraid that if he did he'd only incite the older man's anger. Not even bothering to change into clean clothes, Sam sat down on one of the motel beds and crawled toward the headboard, pulling the duvet over himself as he did so.

Sam listened to his father move around the room for a while before his stomach finally settled down and he closed his eyes, sleep blessedly taking him far away for a few hours.

_W_

Sam startled awake and leaned over the bed, retching miserably. He tried to be as quiet as possible- he really did- because he knew that if his father heard, he'd be in for it.

Sam stiffened when he felt a hand on his back.

Now you've done it, Sam thought, woke Dad up and now he's mad.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean's voice cut through the sound of Sam's heaving, "Easy there, buddy. It's okay."

Dean! It was Dean! Not Dad! Sam remembered! He was at Bobby's! With Dean!

Sam didn't relax though, his mind and body trained from months of abuse to tense up whenever touched.

Sam stopped retching and laid down on the edge of the bed, exhausted. Dean's hand remained on his back though, rubbing soothing circles.

"B-Bobby's gonna be mad a-at me," Sam whispered, "I m-made a mess o-of his fl-floor."

"Nah," Dean assured his brother, "We'll clean it up good as new."

Sam nodded with tears in his eyes. He knew that Bobby wouldn't hurt him, had never hurt him before but the old hunter _had _been a friend of John's and what if-

"Why don't you take a shower and I'll take care of this?" Dean's voice derailed Sam's train of thought.

Without a word, Sam slipped off the bed and grabbed a handful of clothes from his duffle bag without even checking to see what the items were. He silently padded out of the guest bedroom and down the hallway to the master bathroom. Sam closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it as tears streamed from his eyes.

_SPN_

Bobby Singer looked up when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs and saw Dean, a troubled expression on the younger man's face.

The hunter stopped his breakfast preparations and eyed the eldest Winchester.

"Your brother alright?" he asked and Dean shook his head.

"Sammy had a nightmare… I think," Dean explained, "Puked all over the floor."

Bobby raised his eyebrows and was about to ask Dean if Sam had a fever before he was cut off by the younger man.

"Don't let Sam know I told you! He was really upset about it," Dean exclaimed, "Thought you'd be pissed."

"S'alright," Bobby answered, "I'll keep my lips sealed."

Dean gave him a small smile, "Thanks."

Bobby nodded and turned back to the pancake batter he was mixing.

Poor little mite, the older man thought. He had no idea exactly what John had done to Sam under the dybbuk's influence but knew the spirits could get really nasty if they had a mind to. Bobby had warned Dean not to push Sam into talking; sometimes the oldest Winchester could be a little too forceful and right now they needed to show Sam that they were on _his _side. Despite the fact that Sam now knew his father had been possessed the whole time, it would still be difficult for him to start trusting people again.

From the corner of his eye, Bobby spied Dean trudging up the stairs with the yellow wash pail and a cleaning cloth that he'd taken from underneath the sink in the basement. The old hunter sighed and poured a small amount of batter into a waiting frying pan. He knew that they had a long way to go before Sam was fully recovered. Dean had only shown up with his brother the day before and despite the younger man's tendency to be impatient and impulsive, Bobby knew he'd do anything for Sam, especially if it meant protecting him.

_SPN_

Dean wrinkled his nose as he mopped up the small puddle of sick. He hoped his brother wasn't getting ill- that was the last thing the kid needed right now- and made a mental note to check Sam's temperature once he was out of the bathroom.

Under normal circumstances Dean would have handed Sam the bucket and cloth and told the kid to knock himself out, he _was _fourteen years old after all, not a baby that needed someone else to clean up after him but despite that the older Winchester was on his hands and knees, wiping away the evidence.

Dean bit his lower lip as a wave of guilt washed over him. He should never have left Sam alone with their father. Although Dean knew he could never have known what would happen to John, he still felt responsible for his brother. He should have made more of an effort to check up on Sam. Dean recalled the single phone call he'd made to his family after he'd arrived at Stanford; he'd barely been able to get two words out before his father hung up on him. Dean thought his father hated him, had practically disowned him. Now he knew it was probably the dybbuk speaking instead of John but that had been enough. Dean had not called again; his father had Sam to hunt with and obviously didn't need him.

"How could I have been such an idiot?" Dean muttered to himself as he wrung the excess water from the cloth and dried the wet patch on the hardwood.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Sam slink into the bedroom. He grimaced slightly when he noticed how his brother's clothes hung on his thin frame, how stained they were.

Ducking his head, Dean chastised himself for thinking only about, well, himself. He had been so hurt by his father's rejection that he hadn't given one thought to how Sam felt. Dean had known that Sam hadn't wanted to stay with their father but all he cared about was getting to the bus depot on time. Dean had been selfish and his brother had been the one to pay the price.

Standing up, Dean grabbed the handle of the bucket and turned to his brother, "Bobby's making pancakes; why don't you go see if he needs help."

Sam nodded and walked silently down the hall. Dean's brow furrowed with worry and he ran a hand through his hair in agitation. He knew that it was going to take longer than a single day for Sam to get better but Dean didn't want to wait. All he wanted was his little brother back. All he wanted was the Sam he'd once known; the Sam who'd laugh at his jokes no matter how lame they were, who'd complain about his bad singing even as he joined in, who constantly asked Dean questions and expected an answer even if his older brother had no idea if it was correct or not. He wanted the Sam who would roll his eyes and huff in annoyance, he wanted the Sam who complained about burgers for dinner and who would eat pancakes for every meal if given the chance. He wanted the Sam who chattered non-stop on long road trips, who was so concerned about some algebra exam or social studies project, who would curl up beside him if he'd had a nightmare and then act like nothing had happened the next morning.

Dean didn't want this Sam. This Sam who flinched away from him if Dean tried to comfort him, who refrained from speaking unless it was necessary, who was far too thin, whose eyes welled up with tears so easily. This Sam whose body was riddled with scars that had been given to him at the hands of their own father was someone Dean didn't know and didn't want to know.

"Dean! You gonna lollygag around here all day?" Bobby's voice startled Dean out of his thoughts and he was surprised to see the old man standing in the bedroom doorway.

"How long were you calling?" Dean asked and wiped a hand over his mouth.

"I just came up," Bobby told him, "Didn't wanna holler at you from the stairs in case Sam… you know…"

Dean nodded. The night before, he had been watching TV on Bobby's old set and a particularly loud fight scene had sent Sam scurrying from the couch into a corner of the room in fright.

The eldest Winchester followed the grizzled hunter to the main floor. Setting the bucket beside the basement door, Dean entered the kitchen and saw his brother move away from the stove so that Bobby could continue to tend the pancakes.

"You were doing a fine job there, son," Bobby told the boy and Dean smiled at the older man's compliment.

Sam only stared at his sock-and-feet and didn't say a word.

Dean took a seat at the table and poured orange juice into his glass, "C'mon and sit down Sammy."

He watched as his brother shuffled to the table and slid onto one of the chairs. Sam flinched when he reached over to pour him some juice and Dean gritted his teeth in frustration.

_SPN_

Sam's eyes filled with tears. Dean was mad at him now! He gulped and reminded himself that Dean wasn't going to hurt him. Still, he remained as unmoving as stone when Bobby slid three large pancakes onto his plate.

He waited until his brother and uncle had their food before he started eating and then, out of habit he cut his pancakes into large chunks and began shoveling them into his mouth, not even bothering to put syrup on them.

"Hey! Sammy! What're you doing?" Dean exclaimed as Sam practically choked down his breakfast.

Sam stuttered to a stop, swallowing a huge mouthful of food painfully, "I'm s-sorry, De-Dean."

Although Sam knew it wasn't going to happen, his mind was telling him to eat as much as he could before the two men took the food away. Sam learned that if he made John wait while he ate, his father would take his plate away whether he was finished or not.

"What're you sorry for? Just try and eat a little slower, okay?" Dean told him and Sam nodded.

"Want some syrup?" Dean asked and Sam nodded again. He allowed his brother to pour a generous helping over his pancakes before he started eating, slower this time.

After a few minutes Dean sat back in his chair and stretched, "That was great, Bobby."

Sam had been eating painfully slow in an attempt to please his brother but now he wrapped his free arm around the plate protectively when Dean asked him if he was finished.

"N-no," Sam shook his head and stuffed a large piece into his mouth.

"Okay," Dean said and made no move to take away Sam's plate. Sam tried to relax as Dean continued talking.

"What do ya say we go out and get you some new clothes?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head.

"I've gotta go into town anyway," Bobby spoke up, "Why don't I grab some things?"

"Bobby," Dean said but the old hunter interrupted, "Your brother ain't in any condition to go strolling through the local Wal-Mart, Dean. I'm not sure about you but the last thing I want is for some busybody calling the police or CPS."

Sam lowered his head and stopped eating.

"Aw jeez! I didn't even think about that," Dean lamented and Sam heard Bobby grunt sarcastically.

"Losing your touch, are you?" the old hunter said.

"That's not funny, Bobby!" Dean exclaimed and Sam slipped off his chair onto the floor beneath the table.

"Sammy?" Sam heard his brother's voice as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Damn it," he heard Bobby swear under his breath.

"Sam, it's okay," Dean cajoled, "You can come out."

Sam didn't move. His stomach didn't feel good.

"Just leave him, Dean," Bobby's voice said over Sam's head. He heard the sound of plates and silverware moving and realized that the older man was taking his food away.

Tears squeezed out from beneath Sam's closed eyelids. Maybe Dean and Bobby were tricking him, pretending to be nice when they really were just like Dad. Maybe Dean really did hate him and Bobby was mad that he had shot John.

Sam laid his head on his knees and sniffed pitifully, waiting for either his brother or uncle to drag him out from underneath the table and punish him.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Fanfic title comes from a Screaming Trees song of the same name. Chapter title comes from a Black Sabbath song.**

**2. Please leave a review! **_**The Looking Glass Cracked**_** got 216 reviews and I'd like to see this fanfic get just as many! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Someone Who Cares

Dean looked helplessly at Bobby for a moment as the older man began to clear the table but his surrogate uncle offered no answers.

Shaking his head, Dean slid his plate on top of his brother's and handed them both to Bobby.

"What do you need in town?" Dean asked curiously.

Bobby shrugged, "Parts for a car I've gotta work on. Nuthin' special."

The young man nodded and Bobby saw his eyes dart to the huddled form of his brother underneath the table, "I'll only be a half-hour or so."

"Alright," Dean said. He didn't know what he was going to do if Sam refused to move. His brother couldn't stay in the kitchen the whole day.

Dean followed Bobby to the door, told him what he could pick up for Sam and promised not to push his brother.

"Just act like everything's normal," Bobby suggested, "If Sam sees nothing's going to happen, he might just come out on his own."

Dean nodded, slightly annoyed that the veteran hunter was telling him how to take care of his own brother.

"I think I can handle it, Bobby," Dean grumbled.

Bobby frowned at the younger man, "Don't get smart with me, boy. This ain't a game."

"I know that!" Dean growled back, "It's not like I'm having the time of my life right now!"

"Would you lower the volume, you idjit," Bobby hissed, aware that Sam was only in the other room and could certainly hear them arguing.

Dean's face paled as he realized he'd nearly been yelling, "Aw shit."

Bobby shook his head, "Calm down before you go back into the kitchen."

The younger man swiped a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

"I won't be gone long," Bobby told Dean as he slipped out the door, looking back once before climbing into the cab of his old pickup truck.

_SPN_

Sam washed the small amount of dishes leftover in the sink. His father would be home soon and cleaning up the kitchen had been the _one _thing John had told him to do. The water was icy cold- the house that they were renting was just one cockroach infestation shy of being condemned- but Sam didn't mind. He was glad that there was running water, whatever temperature. Sam looked out the window as he did his chore, grimacing at the burnt grass covering the postage stamp-sized lawn as he waited for his father's 1967 Chevy Impala to pull into the cracked driveway.

Across the street a group of little kids were running around in a sprinkler, shouting and laughing as they jumped and skidded in the muddy grass.

Sighing, Sam turned to set a plate in the drying tray and startled when a car door slammed shut. John was back. The plate slipped from Sam's wet fingers and smashed in the sink.

"Fuck," Sam cursed and scrambled to gather up the pieces before his father could see.

The front door creaked open and Sam froze, knowing he'd be caught if he made a dash towards the garbage can.

Tears already pricking in the corners of his eyes, Sam gripped the edge of the sink with white knuckles as his father entered the kitchen, probably looking for a beer.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" John snapped as he crossed to the humming refridgerator.

"Nu-nothing," Sam stammered and winced; now his father was sure to know something was wrong.

"What have you got there?" John asked and stomped toward his son.

"Pl-please," Sam began and tensed when his father placed a hand on the back of his neck.

John didn't even say anything. He just shoved his boy's head down, into the soapy dishwater still in the sink.

Sam didn't have time to take a breath and when he did, he got a lungful of bitter-tasting water. His hands scrabbled for purchase at this edge of the sink, trying to gain leverage and lift his head but his father was too strong. Minutes passed and growing lightheaded, Sam stopped struggling and felt his body go limp, too weak to fight.

This is it, Sam told himself, Dad's finally had enough of-

Sam gasped for air as John pulled his head up. Releasing his son, John stepped around the boy to the fridge and grabbed himself a beer.

Sam hit the floor and pressed his back against the cupboard doors. Wiping soaking bangs away from his burning eyes, Sam squinted at his father as John twisted open his bottle of beer and strolled into the den as though nothing had happened.

Coughing, Sam drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He shivered, knowing that he should finish the dishes and throw out the broken plate before his father came back into the kitchen, but he just couldn't find the strength to move. Tears mixing with the water dripping down Sam's face, he laid his cheek against his kneecap and wished he could do something right for a change.

_W_

Sam stared at Dean's denim-clad legs as his brother washed the dishes. He could hear him humming 'Smoke on the Water' over the splash of sudsy water and the clink of cutlery and plates. Sam might as well have been invisible for all the notice he received. Sam told himself that Dean was his brother and he'd never hurt him but still he didn't move. John was his father and that hadn't stopped him.

The boy sniffed sadly and froze when his brother turned around.

No, Sam thought in panic, I'm sorry! Please!

Sam's eyes grew wide as Dean moved towards the table, dish cloth in one hand.

Scooting away from the threat, Sam let out a frightened whimper.

Dean though, apparently hadn't heard and wiped the table with the cloth, brushing the crumbs into his free hand before dropping them into the empty side of the sink.

The drain gurgled noisily as Dean let the water out and left the dishes in the rack to dry off.

Sam's heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest and his eyes followed Dean as his brother left the kitchen and walked into the den and sat down on the couch.

The boy heard the television turn on and the garbled sounds as his brother channel surfed.

Sam recalled many a night when his father would return from a hunt and watch TV for hours, drinking beer after beer. Sam remained underneath the table, warily eyeing his brother's form as Dean leaned back against the couch cushions and guffawed at something funny he was watching.

_SPN_

Bobby knew something was wrong as soon as he pulled up the drive. Dean was sitting on the porch steps with his head in his hands and a sorrowful expression on his face.

"Balls," Bobby muttered to himself as he opened the creaky door of his pickup, grabbed the grocery bags from the passenger seat and slid out.

The grizzled hunter paused only long enough to slam the truck's door shut and approached the younger man.

"Dean, boy, what happened?" He asked and the teen looked up at him as if suddenly realizing he was there.

"Sam hasn't moved," Dean answered sadly.

Bobby raised his eyes to the sky for a moment, "This ain't gonna fix itself in an afternoon ya idjit."

Dean nodded and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes, "I did what you suggested but it didn't work… I just can't stand to see Sammy like that… he's terrified, Bobby!"

"Okay," the older hunter sighed, "Let's see if we can't coax your brother out of his shell a little bit."

Dean nodded and stood, following his surrogate uncle inside.

Bobby didn't go into the kitchen but the den. He set the bags on the coffee table and spoke loudly to Dean.

"I got Sam some new clothes," he rustled the plastic bag as he pulled out a half dozen pairs of jeans.

"They look like they'd be Sam's size," Bobby continued and unfolded a pair to show Dean.

The younger man smiled, catching on to what Bobby was doing.

"Did you get Sammy any shirts?" Dean asked.

"Of course I did! Look!" Bobby pulled out two dozen shirts. Six t-shirts ranging in colour form dark brown to forest green to navy blue to white. The other half-dozen were long-sleeved plaid button-ups that would match the t-shirts.

"Sam's gonna love these," Dean said honestly and mouthed 'thank you' to the older man.

"That ain't all," Bobby winked, "I got Sam a little treat."

Dean smiled when the veteran hunter pulled a king-sized Oh Henry chocolate bar from the bag.

Both men couldn't help grin when they heard the sounds of moment coming from the kitchen- the scuff of shoes on linoleum and the rasp of fabric- and turned to see Sam watching them warily from the doorway.

"Wanna see what Bobby got ya?" Dean asked as though Sam hadn't been spending the past hour huddled underneath the kitchen table.

Sam narrowed his eyes as though he thought his brother might be tricking him before he stepped into the den.

"You really got all this for me?" Sam asked Bobby and the grizzled hunter nodded.

Sam gripped the elbow of his right arm with his left hand, "Does that mean you're not angry at me?"

Bobby nodded, "You've done nothing wrong, son."

Sam bit his lip and nodded once. He took a cautious step forward and Bobby held out the chocolate bar.

Bobby watched with a bleeding heart as Sam snatched the candy from him and held it as though he wasn't sure what to do with it once he had it.

"Go on," Bobby encouraged, "Enjoy."

Sam's expression turned confused, "Don't you want me to wait 'til after dinner?"

Bobby waved a hand, "Nah, you only live once so why not enjoy the little things while you can."

Sam didn't react for a moment before mumbling a quick 'thank you' to the older man and took off down the hall.

"Sam-" Dean began but Bobby grabbed his arm.

"Let him be, Dean," Bobby cautioned.

Dean stared at his friend in outrage for a moment before nodding.

"I just want him to know that everything's going to be okay," Dean muttered, "I just want him to know that I'm not going to hurt him."

"That's exactly what you're doing, Dean," Bobby assured the younger man, "But Sam's been through a hell of a lot and he's likely still got John in his head so we have to move slowly."

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed, "I'll take these up to our room and put them away for Sam."

Bobby nodded in approval.

Dean had reached the bottom of the steps before Bobby stopped him, "Catch."

Bobby tossed a regular-sized Snickers bar at the younger man and Dean grabbed it from the air with ease.

"Make sure Sam doesn't see you eating it," Bobby advised and Dean nodded, slipping the candy bar into the back pocket of his jeans.

Chuckling to himself, Bobby went into the kitchen and put away the air-dried dishes. The house was very quiet but it wasn't bad… it was more comforting and Bobby knew that- for now at least- both Winchesters were content in their own way.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Chapter title comes from a song of the same name by Three Days Grace.**

**2. Thanks to cold kagome, reannablue, sarah, Souless666, BranchSuper, Samstruck, miss-behave0308, SPN Mum, L.A.H.H, help789, Liza Halliwell, SLPikachu, AlxM, and rohopretender for reviewing.**

**3. Thanks to everyone who alerted, favourited or is following.**

**4. Please leave a review! They keep me warm as the snow piles up outside!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Trick To Life

Sam pulled his knees up to his chest and carefully unwrapped his chocolate bar. He couldn't believe Bobby had gotten it for him. He paused for a moment, listening intently before deciding he was alone and nibbled on the very edge of the Oh Henry bar.

Sam closed his eyes and savoured the sweet, melty chocolate. It had been a long time since he'd had something this good.

Sam tentatively took a small bite and moaned in pleasure. He knew he was acting dumb, it was just a chocolate bar, not ambrosia and nectar, but he couldn't help it. It had been a gift, simple as that, no strings attached and no tricks.

Sam opened his eyes and frowned.

_How do you know it's not some kind of cruel joke?_

Sam shook his head to dislodge the thought. This was Bobby. He'd always been kind to Sam. Nothing suggested that he had something nasty planned.

_Dad sometimes acted nice too. Remember? He would say he was sorry and you'd believe it._

Sam gulped, the chocolate sticking in his throat and turning sour.

"Dad never gave me a candy bar," he whispered out loud but the damage was already done. Sam set the Oh Henry on the floor- ignoring the tiny dust bunnies that became glued to it- and buried his face in his knees in shame.

How had he been so stupid? He'd let his guard down for some fucking piece of candy and now he was going to be punished.

Sam wondered if Bobby was going to beat him. He wondered if Dean was going to was going to laugh and tell him he pathetic he was- what an idiot he was- for believing they actually cared about him.

This was all a big game to them and he didn't know the rules. Just like with his Dad.

_W_

Sam couldn't help but smile to himself. Dad was actually being nice to him! He almost couldn't believe it!

John had woken him up early and said they were going out for breakfast- something they rarely did these days- and had let Sam order pancakes.

After eating they had gone to the library and John had waited while Sam read a book. He couldn't get a library card because they wouldn't be in town long enough but John let Sam pick out one book to read. Sam had been careful to choose a book that wasn't too long- he didn't want to press his luck- and they left the library two hours later.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, not shying away from his father the way he usually did and when he smiled, John smiled back.

"What do you want to do this afternoon, Sport?" his Dad asked and Sam grinned widely. John hadn't called him Sport since he was nine.

"Can we go to the park?" Sam asked carefully, "Play catch?"

"Sure thing," John had answered and there was no darkness to his tone, no deception behind his eyes. He put Sam well at ease; he was a good actor and Sam should have remembered that.

The two Winchesters stayed in the park, tossing a tennis ball- bought at a local dollar store- until the sun began to sink toward the horizon, its rays turning from gold to crimson.

Sam practically skipped back to the Impala, breathless and happier than he'd been since Dean had left for school. John walked casually behind his son, tossing the tennis ball from one hand to the other, utterly calm.

The park had been the best part of the day. He liked the sound of the other kids roughhousing in the sandbox nearby, the warm sun beating pleasantly down on him, the smell of fresh-cut grass and hot dogs- which John had bought them for lunch- and the way his father had smiled at him.

John let Sam fiddle with the radio dial on the drive back to the motel, changing from one station to another as he sought out something that sounded good to him.

Sam wondered if they were going to eat out again. He decided that he'd like that.

When they parked at the motel, Sam slid out of his seat and met his Dad at the motel room door. John grinned at Sam for a moment before fishing the keys from his pocket and opening the door.

Sam went inside and turned to face his Dad. John closed the door softly, the smile never leaving his face.

Sam should have known something was wrong.

"Did you have a good day, Sammy?" John asked and his son nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! It was great," Sam exclaimed happily, "Really fun!"

John wasn't looking at him. He was peering down at the key ring in his hand, "Good, because that's the last day like that you're ever going to get."

The silence that followed was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His heart began to gallop, not from excitement or happiness but from fear.

"Dad?" Sam squeaked, "D-did I do so-something wrong?"

John didn't answer immediately; he just continued to stare at his hand. And the keys.

Sam's mind sorted through the events of the day in warp speed, trying to figure out if he'd said something wrong or said something wrong.

John looked up and Sam took a step back as his father let out a bark of laughter.

"You actually believed it!" he crowed, "I can't believe you fell for it!"

"No, pl-please Dad," Sam begged, "Don't!"

John's face still held its malicious mirth, "You're more stupid than you look!"

Sam's eyes stung with tears and he looked at the floor. It wasn't fair! How could his father do this to him? Why?

"Oh stop crying!" John said in exasperation, "It's not my fault you're a retard."

That only made the tears fall faster. Sam couldn't' help it, his heart was breaking all over again. He had dared to hope that his father had changed only to find out it was all some cruel joke.

"Shut up!" John demanded, growing angry now and Sam raised his hands to his mouth to try and stifle the sound of his sobs.

Sam staggered back when his father hit him in the face, the set of keys cutting into his cheek and neck.

"Pl-please don't," Sam begged and John punched him again.

Sam sprawled onto the carpet, stunned. Dazed, he lifted his hand and grabbed onto one of the beds, fingers fisting in the blankets.

How had things gotten so bad, so quickly?

Sam struggled to pull himself up but hit the floor again when John shoved him.

He didn't try and move again. Instead Sam curled into a ball on his side, hands clenched against his chest and knees pulled up to his chin.

"Fuckin' moron," he heard his father mutter and turn away. Sam let a few more tears squeeze out before he closed his eyes and tried to think back on the events of the day, imagining that John really did love him and would spend endless hours playing in the park as carefree and happy as the other fathers did.

_SPN_

Dean crept down the stairs and headed into the den. He wondered where Sam had gone to eat his chocolate; he wasn't in the room they shared because Dean had had it all to himself while putting his brother's new clothes away.

Just let him alone for a little bit, Dean told himself. If you start trying to force yourself on him he's only gonna get scared.

Dean shook his head wearily, sadly and hid his own candy wrapper at the bottom of the trashcan under Bobby's desk.

Turning to the bookshelf, Dean grabbed a tome and sat down on the couch. Although he knew he should be focusing on helping Sam get better, Dean wanted to learn more about the spirit that Bobby had called a dybbuk. Even though Sam was a priority right now, Dean didn't think a little research would hurt anyone.

Dean grew so engrossed with the book that he startled when Bobby entered the den.

"I'm surprised to see you hitting the books," the old hunter commented and Dean shrugged and then frowned.

"Bobby, how can you be sure it was a dybbuk that possessed Dad?" he asked suddenly.

The older man's eyebrows knitted together, "What do you mean, son?"

Dean stabbed a finger down at the book, "I don't want to call Sam a liar but Bobby we only have his word to go on that this white mist left Dad after he… after he died."

"Dean," Bobby began but the younger man interrupted him.

"I didn't see any ectoplasm or anything like that when I picked him up from the motel," Dean continued, "There was nothing to suggest that a pissed off spirit was there."

"Dybbuk's are different," Bobby explained, "They're rare and damn difficult to detect _because _they don't display the usual signs of haunting or possession."

Dean shook his head, "Sam was traumatized, Bobby. He's just shot Dad and even after coming here he wasn't quite right. He's still not right. He thinks we're going to hurt him."

Bobby let out a breath, "Is that what you're truly worried about? That Sam thinks we're out to get him?"

Dean opened his mouth to protest, to say that _no, he was not sure if Sam had seen what he actually claimed he had _but he couldn't get the words out.

"Dean, you're right. Sam was still a little shocked when I asked him about what had happened but I don't think he'd lie. I think he really saw the dybbuk leave your father's body in that motel room," Bobby said, coming closer to the younger man and taking the book from him.

"Besides, I know your father could be a hardass sometimes but I have never, _never _known him to raise a hand in anger to either of you boys," Bobby set the tome back on its shelf.

"But-" Dean tried but the veteran hunter shook his head.

"John's in his head, Dean," Bobby said, "He spent a great many months with someone he thought hated him, who was hurting him before being told that it wasn't really John."

Dean stared down at his lap, suddenly ashamed of his misgivings.

"I'm… I'm just so scared that it's not true, Bobby," Dean whispered, "I'm just so scared that there wasn't any spirit and it was… was all Dad… I'm afraid that he just snapped when I left."

The older man laid a hand on Dean's shoulder comfortingly.

"I know that John loved you boys and the last thing he wanted was to see you get hurt," Bobby murmured.

Dean sniffed and then swiped a hand across his eyes, embarrassed.

Clearing his throat, Dean tried to maintain at least some of his dignity. He stood up and stretched.

"What's for lunch?" he asked with a cocky grin.

Bobby rolled his eyes, "We just had breakfast!"

"I know but I'm starving," Dean complained, "I'm a growing boy."

Bobby chuckled and smacked Dean's stomach with the back of his hand playfully.

"I can see that," he joked.

Dean dodged out of the hunter's reach and pranced into the kitchen.

"I took out a package of hotdogs," Bobby called, "They're thawing in the sink."

"Mmmm nothing better than hooves and snouts," Dean rubbed his belly comically and Bobby huffed in exasperation.

What am I going to do with that boy? Bobby wondered with humour as Dean grabbed a box of cookies from the pantry and began munching away on them.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Chapter title comes from a song of the same name by the Hoosiers. **

**2. Thanks to L.A.H.H, DianaLadris802, Samstruck, sarah, SPN Mum, LeighAnnWallace, CeCe Away, BranchSuper and Guest for reviewing.**

**3. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited/followed.**

**4. Please leave a review! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Silent Lucidity **

Dean climbed up the stairs in search of his brother. Lunch was ready but Sam hadn't made an appearance for a few hours- not since Bobby had given him the chocolate bar- and Dean wondered where his brother could be hiding.

Peering into the room he shared with his brother, Dean knew he wouldn't find Sam but he checked anyway, even going so far as to open the closet and peer underneath the beds.

Dean's stomach growled impatiently but he ignored it. Stepping out into the hallway, he tried to think of where his brother could be.

"Sammy?" Dean called quietly.

"Sam?" he said his brother's name once again and although he wasn't answered, he heard a shifting sound from over his head. Looking up, Dean nearly kicked himself as his gaze landed on the pull-string dangling down from the closed ladder that led up to the attic.

Stretching, Dean grabbed the rope that dangled down and pulled until the wooden ladder unfolded before him. The eldest Winchester glanced over his shoulder for a moment before sighing and climbing the steps, hoping that his brother was up in the attic (and wishing that he wasn't).

Poking his head up cautiously, Dean squinted across the attic, seeing nothing but dusty cardboard boxes and a couple of old steamer trunks.

"Sammy?" Dean called, his voice carrying across the stale, humid attic.

Dean paused and listened for a response, any response and frowned when he heard nothing. Sam couldn't have gone outside, could he? Dean wondered and was just about to leave when he heard a shuffling sound on the far side of the room.

"Sam? You up here?" Dean called, slightly louder than before and pulled himself up to stand on the dust-coated wooden boards that made up the attic's floor.

Dean listened carefully and frowned when a small whimper drifted across the muggy attic air towards him.

"Sammy? Where are you, buddy?" Dean asked and crept forward. Glancing down he could make out the scuff marks of socks on the dust-covered floorboards and followed the trail to the far end of the room.

Sam was curled up against the wall, his legs pressed against his chest and his face buried against his knees.

"What are you doing up here?" Dean asked quietly but Sam flinched as if he had shouted the question.

"Hey," Dean cooed, "Hey, its okay. I'm not mad, I was just worried."

Sam didn't move as Dean approached. The older teen crouched down and he saw the abandoned candy bar lying on the dusty floor.

Picking up the chocolate, Dean frowned when he saw it was coated in dust.

"You don't want this?" Dean asked, holding the treat out to his brother.

Sam, still refusing to look at his brother, shook his head. His arms tightened around his knees and he muttered something into his jeans.

"What? I can't hear you, Sammy," Dean said quickly and reached out to ruffle his brother's hair.

Dean didn't like how tense his brother was when he touched him. The boy seeming to be made out of stone and Dean quickly lowered his hand.

"Bobby's made us lunch if you want some," Dean tried, speaking encouragingly.

Sam shook his head. Dean sighed. Sam had to eat something or else he'd get sick. The kid was already for too thin for Dean's liking and he'd be damned if he just sat back and watched his brother wither away.

"Okay," Dean stood as if he was about to leave but instead bent down and grabbed his sibling under the arms.

Sam gasped and began flailing, kicking out his legs and punching at the air.

"No! Let me go! Please! I'm sorry!" Sam screamed high-pitched and Dean swore under his breath. He tightened his grip and tried to reassure his brother that nothing was wrong.

"It's alright, Sammy. It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you."

"No! No! Please, I'll be good! I promise!" Sam was deaf to Dean's assurances. The older boy carefully maneuvered the two of them towards the attic's entrance.

Dean knew he couldn't hold onto his brother and go down the ladder at the same time so he was hoping that Sam would calm down enough before they reached it.

Sam had tears running down his face and he was shaking with fear but Dean didn't stop to think about it. He wasn't going to hurt his brother and he needed Sam to realize that.

Once they had reached the attic exit, Dean set his brother down on his feet. Dean decided that Sam should go first so that he wouldn't be tempted to run away into the attic again.

"Bobby made us hotdogs, Sam," Dean told his brother over the sound of Sam's crying, "Can't you smell them?"

Dean's stomach gurgled at the scent of hotdogs and Kraft Dinner wafting into the attic space and he hoped Sam would be tempted by the food to go down on his own.

Sam ducked his head and nodded.

"Think you can get down by yourself?" Dean asked, knowing that Sam would be able to.

"Yes," Sam whimpered and Dean's throat tightened with emotion.

"Sam-" Dean began, wanting to say something that would make his brother stop crying, that would make the kid smile at him like he used to, but the younger boy ducked his head even lower and began to climb down the wooden ladder.

The older brother wiped a hand down his face. Bobby was going to be pissed when he found out what Dean had done. So much for taking it slow, Dean thought and peered down to see his brother had finished his descent and was standing to one side, waiting for him.

At least he didn't run off again, Dean decided that he might have gotten somewhere with his brother and began his own climb down from the attic.

As soon as Dean's feet touched the hardwood he knew he'd made a mistake. Looking around, he swore when he saw that Sam was nowhere in sight.

Running his hand through his short-cropped hair, the oldest Winchester folded the ladder back up, not even bothering to wait until it settled into place before he was stomping down the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean called, trying to keep anger from his voice. To be honest, he wans't angry- couldn't be angry with his brother, not when he was like this- but frustrated that everything seemed like it was one step forward and two steps back.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted again and grimaced when he heard Bobby curse from the kitchen.

"What're ya trying to do? Wake the whole damn neighbourhood?" Bobby stuck his grizzled head out the kitchen doorway and narrowed his eyes at the young man.

"Did you see Sam come down here?" Dean asked, trying not to sound too worried.

"What've you done now?" the veteran hunter asked suspiciously.

Dean glanced at the floor guiltily, "I, uh, might have scared Sammy."

"Jesus Dean! What did I tell you?!" Bobby growled and stepped towards the younger man.

"I'm sorry! Sam was up in the attic, I was afraid he'd get dehydrated," Dean claimed, his explanation not entirely false.

"Idjit," Bobby growled and turned to head back into the kitchen. Dean made to follow the older man but nearly walked into him instead.

Dean peered around Bobby's shoulder and saw Sam sitting at the kitchen table.

The youngest Winchester stared wide-eyed at his friend and brother nervously.

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted and smiled.

Bobby shook his head and entered the kitchen.

Sam visibly stiffened as the older man walked into the room but he didn't leave the room.

"You want some lunch, son?" Bobby asked and Sam nodded hesitantly.

Dean sat down across from his brother.

"What's wrong with you? Are yer legs broke?" Bobby's voice startled the eldest Winchester and Dean sighed.

Once Dean and Bobby set the table the younger man sat back down and smiled at his brother.

Sam had watched the two older men work without saying a word. He wasn't sure if he should offer to help. Neither Bobby nor Dean asked him so he kept quiet.

Dean scooped several spoonfuls of Kraft Dinner into the bowl in front of his brother and Sam muttered his thanks.

"Do you want a hotdog, kiddo?" Dean asked, hoping Sam would eat. He was far too thin. Sam shook his head, hunched his shoulders and began shoveling the macaroni into his mouth.

Dean watched his brother for a moment, noting the speed at which Sam was eating but decided not to call him out on it.

Instead, Dean pretended as if nothing was wrong. He helped himself to Kraft Dinner, squirted some ketchup into it began eating as well.

Bobby took a hotdog, slathered it with relish and mustard and played dumb as well.

The small family ate in silence, no one daring to speak.

Sam finished his lunch first. He set his fork down on his napkin and stared down at the empty bowl.

"You want some more, Sammy?" Dean asked in a kindly tone but his brother shook his head.

"You sure? There's a lot of macaroni left," Dean tried, "Or you can have a hotdog."

Again Sam shook his head.

Dean glanced at Bobby and the older man just shrugged.

Although both of them would have liked to see Sam eat more, neither wanted to force him to.

_W_

Bobby insisted that he could take care of the dishes when Dean tried to help him.

"I'm fine," he assured the younger man, "You go with your brother."

Dean nodded although he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with Sam. After being excused from the table, the younger boy had gone into the den and sat on the end of the couch with his knees pulled up to his chin.

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted as he entered the living room. Sam didn't even look up.

"You want to watch some TV?" he asked but the boy didn't reply.

Dean sat down on the opposite end of the couch and grabbed the television remote control.

Turning on the TV, Dean flicked through the channels, "You want to watch _ThunderCats_?"

Normally if Dean had suggested watching a cartoon like that, Sam would groan and roll his eyes, tell his brother that it was a baby show but the younger boy only shrugged.

Since _ThunderCats _was no longer on the air, Dean settled for a documentary about lions.

Close enough, he thought and stretched out so that he could be more comfortable. He watched, slightly bored as a lioness played with her twin cubs, her actions narrated by some old British guy who seemed to always be in these type of shows.

Dean couldn't help but smile slightly as he watched from the corner of his eye as Sam leaned forward, chin resting on his knees.

Little steps, Dean thought, take things slowly, like Bobby said.

_SPN_

John never let Sam watch TV.

Even when his father was gone, Sam never turned on the television, sure that somehow John would know he'd done so when he returned and punish him for it.

It had been so long since Sam had watched television that he would chance getting in trouble. Besides, Dean had been the one to suggest they watch it, right?

Maybe it was a trick though. Maybe Dean wanted to see if Sam would do something that was forbidden just because his big brother had said it was okay.

Sam slid off the couch and onto the floor, scooting around the corner of the couch and put his hands over his ears.

Why would Dean hurt you? A voice in Sam's head asked, he's your brother. He's the one who found you after Dad died.

Taking a deep breath, Sam peered around the couch. Dean remained where he was but he had a worried expression on his face.

Dean cares about you. If he didn't he wouldn't have come to get you from Delaware, the voice continued. Sam had never noticed before but it sounded like a woman's voice, like the voice he imagined as his mother's.

Carefully, as if he expected Dean to fly into a rage, Sam climbed back up onto the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Dean didn't say anything and Sam felt relief wash over him.

Turning to the TV screen, Sam continued to watch the documentary, his mother's voice assuring him that nothing bad was going to happen to him.

**Author's Note: **

**1. Chapter title comes from a Queensryche song of the same name.**

**2. Thanks to Samstruck, sarah, reannablue, AlxM, SPN Mum, BranchSuper, L.A.H.H, Sparkiebunny, mandancie, Jeanny, ishouldbesleepingitslike4am and scootersmom for reviewing.**

**3. Thanks to everyone who favourited, alerted or is following.**

**4. Please leave a review! **


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